How to Think About Downsizing Your Life

SARA LAWRENCE-LIGHTFOOT: What advice would I give to couples who are downsizing? I confess that I do not speak from personal experience. I have lived in the same big house for 40 years; the home where I have raised my children; where I have written my books, the place that is layered miles deep with family stories and memories. I have never tried to “downsize” my life, although I have spent countless hours anticipating—with dread and excitement—the moment when I will choose to make my exit; and I know it will be like all exit moments, filled with the twin feelings of loss and liberation.

I have, however, witnessed the downsizing of several of my friends, and talked to scores of folks whose stories of their “Third Chapters” have included redesigning a new life in smaller digs. Here are a few of the insights that I have extracted from my watching and listening.

We need to change the language we use.

“Downsizing” conjures up images and thoughts of decline and weakening. We envision a life that is descending, withering away, drawing to a close. Perhaps if we reframe the process, we will see its generative—rather than deteriorating—possibilities; we will focus on the gains rather than the losses.

Rather than downsizing, let’s talk about “clearing” and “composing.” As we excavate the layers of our former life, we must clear a space, by getting rid of the baggage that has weighed us down—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—for too long.

My sister—who has “downsized” more than once—reminds me that the Latin word for baggage is “impedimenta,” which loosely translates to the things that get in the way of our forward movement. We must banish those encumbrances; get rid of the old burdens in order to light the path towards the new.

But exiting and excavating must not be limited to expunging the obstacles that have littered our past.

We must also discover the creative process that allows us to feel empowered; that makes good use of our accumulated experience; our hard earned wisdom; that harvests our memories of pleasure, fulfillment, and joy.

In her book “Composing A Life,” Mary Catherine Bateson describes the importance of framing the decisions we make about how we live out lives—both those forces and changes within our control, and those out of our control—as acts of “composing.”

This is particularly important when our lives are thrown out of balance and we are facing the treachery of transition, the chaos of discontinuity.

Rather than conceiving of this transition as a death of the old and the birth of the new, however, Bateson sees composing as a bridging of the old and the new; transferring aspects of our former identities into our new reality, creating a narrative that seeks to discover and then emphasize the connections, the similarities, the transpositions from one chapter to the next. There is agency and artistry in weaving those connecting threads, and in choosing the patterns that will persist and prosper. Clearing and composing are both acts of liberation. We are banishing and creating; we are embracing change and continuity.

Georgia, my 70-year-old friend—who has just moved with her husband from their rambling Victorian home to a city loft downtown, and who often speaks in theatrical metaphors—tells me as she unpacks her boxes of carefully selected keepsakes, “I love the thought of changing the scenery and designing a new stage set.”

Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot is the Emily Hargroves Fisher professor of Education at Harvard University. She is a MacArthur prize winner and author of the recent book, “EXIT: The Endings that Set Us Free.” Her website is www.saralawrencelightfoot.com.